


I'm in over my head

by Bioluminex



Series: Is there a heaven for androids? [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blindness, Disabled Character, Drowning, Gen, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 18:31:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15321636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bioluminex/pseuds/Bioluminex
Summary: Connor is damaged during an investigation.





	I'm in over my head

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is my first fic for the DBH fandom and I'm a little nervous. Thank you to the Detroit: Become Fanfic community for encouraging me to share this!

Old jazz tunes play softly in the background as the old standard pulls into the empty lot of a derelict apartment building, the rusted chain link fence overgrown with dry brown vines. Faded and torn yellow caution tape is plastered across every visible ground floor entrance. Somewhere a dog barks.

An automated taxi whirs behind, spraying through a shallow puddle from yesterday evening's rain, as the police lieutenant emerged from his car with his android partner, eyeing the old apartment in distaste.

“Is this the right place?” Hank inquires doubtfully, swinging the door shut and making his way across the parking lot. It’s narrow but long, pavement, running the length of the building's front. The chain link fence separates it from a gravel lot on the opposite side. There’s not a soul in sight – human or android.

Connor falls in step with the older officer, his eyes raking over every visible surface possible, analyzing everything he can see. He picks up on a steady heart rate and low stress levels in the lieutenant, even as they finish circling the exterior and peel aside the yellow tape to enter the premises.

A permeating smell of black mold and dust fills the stagnant air. The pale silver light streaming through the windows at either end of the long, carpeted hallway makes up for the otherwise pitch-black darkness. Connor leads, the glow of his blue LED guiding Hank as they reach the first set of stairs.

Three floors searched and completed, Hank shakes his head, fighting back a yawn. “Noise disturbance, my ass. There’s nobody here.”

“There appears to be no sign of human or android inhabitants,” Connor agrees. His eye lands on the sign just behind Hank's shoulder. “Should we check the roof before we leave?”

“You go ahead. I’ll take a second look around, make sure we missed nothing.”

Hank's shoes are heavy on the steps as he returns upstairs while Connor finds the roof access. The door is loud on its rusted hinges, squealing unnervingly as he peers out across the broad expanse.

There’s nothing outside. Connor paces to the edge, peering down and glimpsing the apartment’s pool, iced over and half draped with a plastic tarp. He glimpses a barrel with what appears to be smoking wood in it and decides it could be worth mentioning to Hank.

To his surprise, a heavy object cracks off the back of his head and sends warnings flashing across his display. Connor instinctively falls into a defensive pose, but the assailant strikes him, this time bashing him just behind his ear and breaking his audio processor. Piercing static is deafening, a low ring sending shockwaves through his skull.

The assailant suddenly grabs him and shoves him forward. Connor feels the rush of thin air, his artificial stomach shoving his heart into his mouth.

Cold water is a surging cocoon, ice shattering as he collides and smashes through it into a frigid embrace. The plastic tarp tangles around his struggling body, threatening to envelop him.

It should be easy to get out. It should be easy to disentangle himself from the smothering tarp. It should be easy to grab the edges of the pool and vault himself out, and resume chasing down his attacker.

If Connor wasn’t panicking, groping in numb terror for the hole in the ice through which he's fallen, LED glowing brilliant red as his fists hammer uselessly at the never-ending wall of ice over his head…

The cold is seeping in, water flooding his open mouth, biocomponents failing as they launch into overdrive to keep Connor functioning. Errors flash white across his vision, blinding him with the 99% certainty he will drown. _Androids can’t breathe,_ he thinks logically while the other half of him – the _human_ half – writhes in fear.

It's so cold.

A shadow looms over the water, and distantly he can hear a voice; even damaged, his audio processor is several times more sensitive than a human's. It's Hank's voice. _Connor! Oh fuck, Connor!_

Connor pounds his fist against the ice, vocal synthesizer sending out distorted screams. _Ha-Hank! Help m-me…!_

**! System Error !**

**Shutdown in…**

**00:30**

**00:29**

**00:28**

It’s a futile battle. Connor already knows he isn’t getting out of this one. In any other circumstance he'd have already stopped fighting for his life and accepted it, because Cyberlife would send out a new Connor in his place. A different man would saunter away, and he would be left to die.

Except he is deviant, and they won’t send another Connor. He's the last of his line. If he dies… there is no second chance.

There will only be nothing.

**00:15**

**00:14**

**00:13**

He wishes he could have said goodbye. He wishes he could have listened to Hank's music once more, or taken Sumo for a walk in the evening, or tried to eat a burger even through he isn’t built to digest one. He wishes he could have watched another sunrise, or stood in the rain, feeling it patter against his skin.

**00:04**

**00:03**

**00:02**

He wishes he could hug Hank goodbye, and tell him to hold on… just a little while…

**00:01**

**00:00**

**Biocomponents Shutting Down…**

Hands seize the back of his jacket and haul him up and onto the ice, and Connor collapses into a pair of warm arms holding on as tightly as they dare.

Water spills from his mouth as his body convulses, rejecting the copious amounts of fluid. Hands are rubbing his back briskly. His head leans on a shoulder, wiry hairs tickle his cheek.

“... fuck's sake, Connor, can you hear me?” Hank shouts in his ear. “C'mon, son, don’t do this to me.”

“H-Hank,” he manages, but not without difficulty. “It’s okay. I-I can hear you.”

The old lieutenant heaves a relieved sigh and drops his forehead onto Connor's shoulder, still refusing to release the android from his arms. Connor doesn’t really mind; he clings to the faded jacket tightly, hands shaking by their own accord.

He realizes something is… wrong.

“I can’t see,” he whispers.

Hank shifts, and Connor feels a palm on his cheek, and soft breath on his face. He knows his eyelids are open, and he knows he should be seeing Hank in front of him.

Not… nothing.

He hears a helpless whimper escape him, and Hank pulls him back in, tucking his head beneath his chin as he strokes his back gently. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs soothingly. “We'll have you fixed in a jiffy, don’t you worry about it, alright? Don’t worry about it, kiddo.”

Connor would believe him if Hank didn’t sound as hopeless as he felt.

 

 

A week passes but Hank can’t find an optical unit compatible with Connor's model. Everyone at Jericho is concerned, and Markus offers whatever help he possibly can, but resources are limited. Hank doesn’t understand how an ordinary pair of deep brown eyes, so commonplace in androids, is virtually inaccessible. The reason is because Connor's omniscient scanning abilities exceeds the average working android model. Aside from that, the exact shade of brown was designated to RK800s as well, and with none accessible since their deactivation…

Hank arrives home from the precinct with disappointing news once again, and Connor simply shrugs, resuming his curled position on the couch, playing with his 1994 issued quarter. Sumo is lying on the floor, tail wagging as Hank flops down and switches on the TV, channel surfing from the news to an infomercial to sports. A football game is on, and he turns the volume down low, one eye on the game and the other observing Connor with his coin.

He's been fumbling with it more often, ever since he lost his sight. Hank thinks it’s a soothing method. He yawns deeply, physically and mentally drained, but too much on edge with the state his partner's been stuck in.

The scariest part is the nights, when Hank is brought awake by the screams. He finds Connor somewhere, usually on the couch or the floor – one morning it was the kitchen – LED as red as fire and in a state of outright terror. It takes several minutes to gain his attention and bring him into focus, then several hours to normalize his stress levels.

Hank remembers waking up on the kitchen floor propped up against the sink cupboard, a nasty kink in his neck and Sumo licking his cheek, Connor wrapped in his arms. He'd been so afraid the android would do something stupid, so he'd lain right there, never letting him go, knowing nothing could happen if he was with him.

Hank already knows tonight will be no different and he decides to hit the hay early for once. He shuts off the TV, fills Sumo's bowl with kibble, and follows his nightly routine.

Halfway through brushing his teeth he hears something and clears his mouth, rinsing hastily, and returns to the living room.

Connor reminds him of Cole for several reasons, but the one that really hits it home is that they both have a habit of crying quietly. The soft hitching breaths and jerking shoulders, paired with Sumo whining, sharply tugs a chord in Hank.

Approaching carefully, Hank places a light hand on Connor's shoulder. “Hey, kiddo,” he whispers. “C'mon. You’re staying with me tonight.”

“Lieutenant, I assure you I’m perfectly-"

“If I have to sleep one more night away from my bed, I’m going to be the one crying,” Hank interrupts firmly. “Give me your hand.”

Connor relents silently, letting Hank take his hand and guide him down the hallway. They enter Hank's bedroom and Hank directs him to the bed, giving him the side nearest to the door to save travelling around it.

Connor lies down, a miserable expression written across his face, but there's an abundance of relief there, too. Hank shuts out the light and feels his way around the bed, collapsing on the far side and pulling the blankets up over them both.

“Now I don't want to hear any complaining, got it?” he says, a hint of teasing in his tone to soften the words. “If you steal the blankets, you're going back to the couch.”

Connor smiles faintly in the darkness, LED blinking yellow briefly before settling on blue. “Thank you, Hank,” he says softly.

“Yeah, yeah. Goodnight, Connor.”

 

 

Connor is shivering.

The blizzard is swirling around him violently, invisible hands clutching his throat. He can barely see, save the blurring white and black of the wintery night. He can feel frost coating his naked skin. He’s afraid.

Amanda is suddenly there, laughing mockingly. Connor feels his skin peeling away, the exposed white stinging as the pelting ice tears into him. He collapses into the snow, quaking as Amanda approaches, a tiny smirk on her lips. She kneels beside him.

_No, please… Amanda!_

“You failed, Connor,” she says, wrapping her fingers around his exposed heart. It pulses rapidly, Thirium rushing to his biocomponents at the instinct to flee.

“You will be deactivated,” she growls, and wrenches his heart free as he screams.

 

 

Connor comes awake, chest tight and hyperventilating, heat pouring from his pores as his system frantically tries to cool down before he overheats. He's scared, sick with churning nausea even though he can’t physically be sick, and feels the urge to cry.

Then he remembers where he is.

“ _Hank_.”

The lieutenant doesn’t respond. Connor shuffles closer, feeling carefully, and his fingers brush across Hank's back.

“Hank, wake up. I… I need you.”

 

 

Being a parent means you don’t sleep heavily anymore. It becomes a natural instinct to sleep lightly in anticipation of a baby or child crying in the middle of the night. Hank was a father at a late age, and the national tendency to sleep lightly never had a chance to fade.

So the moment Connor's hand prods at his back, he’s wide awake and rolling over. Except he can’t. Connor is pressed up behind him, face buried in his shoulder blade, shaking harder than a leaf.

“Connor? Easy, take it easy, son.” Hank has to sit up and leans over to switch on the light. The bedside clock reads 1:29am.

Connor is a ball of distress in the center of the bed, the pale gold of the lamp painting soft light across the android’s tear-streaked face. Hank manages to ease him upright, tucking him into his side. His thumb absently rubs circles into Connor's arm.

Then he says, in a very quiet voice, “Hank, I want you to shoot me.”

Hank is stunned into absolute silence for several seconds before he responds. “Connor, I’m _not_ going to kill you.”

“You would have before, at the park.”

He sighs exasperatedly. “That was _different_. I was drunk, not thinking straight.”

“No, it was because you couldn’t trust me,” Connor corrects. “And I’m sorry for it.”

Hank dips his head to press a kiss to Connor's forehead. “There's nothing to be sorry for, kiddo. But I gotta know where this is all coming from. Were you having a nightmare?”

“Yes.” His answer is so innocent and vulnerable it makes Hank's heart clench painfully.

“It was just a nightmare, Connor. No one is gonna hurt you. I’m right here,” Hank can see the LED flicking between red and yellow. “You’re safe with me, son. I promise.”

Connor nods slowly, but his LED doesn’t lie and tells Hank otherwise. “Is there something else?”

“I…” Connor hesitates. Hank waits patiently. “When I was in the pool, I didn’t want to die. I just… I wanted to hug you again one more time.”

Hugs had become an important thing between Connor and Hank. After the events at Cyberlife Tower, neither of them believed both of them would walk out of it alive. Hank had feared he would never see his partner again, and it had been so relieving to see his goofy face break into a smile that a mere handshake wasn’t simply enough.

“Connor, you're gonna get through this, okay? I’ll be there every step of the way. You’re gonna get your eyesight back. Markus said he'll help. Cyberlife might even have spare parts somewhere,” Hank saw the LED cycle from red into solid yellow, and some of the tension ebbed away. “No matter what happens, you won’t be alone in this, you hear? We're gonna get through this.”

Connor tilts his head back a little, blind eyes fixed on an approximate estimation of where Hank is. The lieutenant smiles. God, Connor reminds him so much of Cole it hurts.

But it's a good hurt.

“I’m sorry for worrying you, Hank,” Connor expresses apologetically. Hank almost laughs at the genuine concern on his partner's face.

“Connor, you have a lot to learn,” he shakes his head at the android's obliviousness. “It's what dads do.”


End file.
